


the leap of faith

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Syo Kurusu relapses. </p>
<p>("to live, to truly live, we must be willing to risk.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	the leap of faith

**the leap of faith**

.

“You’re insufferable.”

Syo thinks that their first exchange could have gotten better. A lot better. Maybe he shouldn’t have suplexed Cecil across the room after getting too close to Haruka, at the time he chalked it up to his own affection for STARISH’s composer, but now, maybe it was a prelude to something else.

Something else. Syo’s never liked uncertainty because he’s known for carving out his own destiny and flying high, once a week on your favorite TV channel. Gambling with fate was something he left for people better suited, he focused on the now, now, now! because the future was terrifying and never for sure. It’s a lesson best taught by white coats and IV needles and a brother’s promise to make things right.

But. You know. He doesn’t think about that as much, no, not anymore.

He thinks about the sky and how blue it is and how it feels to almost touch it. He’s jumped across chasms and soared on zip lines but none of that compares to being on a little helicopter, leagues into the atmosphere, knuckles bone white and hands wrapped around the railing. Someone far away tells him it’s time to go, and the rest of STARISH jumps out, one at a time. They’re filming a promo shot for their new music video. Otoya and Haruka are first, and then Tokiya and Masato, Ren and Natsuki follow suit. It’s almost his turn. He can still hear Otoya’s screams, and he feels the adrenaline rush, there’s only wind ringing in his ears and he feels like he’s going to float away.

Cecil taps his shoulder. He leans in with a grin, Syo can’t see it, he’s fixated on Natsuki’s parachute. He’s almost surprised he didn’t get it dyed yellow.

“I’m right behind you. Go!”

And then he’s falling. Down, Down, Down. he’s free falling and he glides, they’ve practiced this before, sure. Once or twice, he doesn’t remember what Ryuuya told him, or anything and he’s glad that he’s not wearing a hat. To even be thinking about that right now is ridiculous. Cecil is at his right, and he gives him a cheery thumbs up and Syo wants to strangle him.

“Don’t cats hate heights?”

“Not if they can land on all four!”

Syo’s not scared of heights. Not of falling, either. He’s just worried about how it was going to be when he came back down to earth.

Yikes.

They all stick the landing, the cameras stop rolling, and Otoya excuses himself so he can properly have an attack in the bathroom. Tokiya and Haruka follow him out and Natsuki voices his concern. Everyone’s buzzing about the stunt and Masato offers to get everyone tea, and Ren flicks his hair back and offers to come help, but Syo knows they’re both going to check up on their resident acrophobe.

Might as well, just go. Cecil is already gone and he’s the only one left and Otoya makes a big deal that he’s fine even though he’s holding a paper bag against his lips breathing in and out and then again and Syo snips that it’s miraculous he didn’t have to go to the hospital. Maybe it’s too harsh, because he only looks down. And then back up, with a smile that is practiced, executed flawlessly.

“You’re right, Syo-kun! Sorry for worrying everyone.”

The procession out is loud, and finally, they celebrate a job well done. There’s laughter and there’s a grin on everyone’s faces and Cecil claps everyone on the back and Syo slinks over to Natsuki’s side. He’s usually the one making the most noise, usually the life of the party but today he’s got something to mull over.

It’s been a year since Cecil’s induction but it feels like longer. He’s familiar and comfortable with everyone, calls them all by their first name, while Syo gets the word “Haruka” stuck in his throat and relegates himself to "Nanami." It’s frustrating. It shouldn’t annoy him that much, considering all things, but he finds himself more often than not, wondering how it would be like, being that…brutish? Thick headed? Confident?

Confidence! Ha. Syo was all about confidence, swagger. He was the cool type, punk rock. Right. He shouldn’t be off put by Cecil, not in the slightest.

If anything, he admires his one track mind. His ability to throw himself into the fire without any thought of the consequences. He’s proved himself time and time again.

And maybe Syo just feels stagnant in comparison.

.

So he throws himself back into it, whatever it entails, that’s up to their agency president and Ai Mikaze’s particular fancy. Mikaze is…certainly something, but Syo respects him and his work. He’s got an incredible track record despite the detached aura and dead gaze.

It’s ok.

Mikaze decides they’re taking a fashion show job, and Syo is surprised. That seemed to be more appropriate for Ren, or even Tokiya, but Mikaze clarifies before he can put a word in.

“It’s a full agency ordeal, Shining says. We meet with designers tonight.” And there he goes, looking as pristine as ever. Natsuki bounces on his heels and ruffles Syo’s hair, he’s beaming.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Sure.

“We get to work with everyone! How long has it been? When was our last live, haha.” Yeah, it’s been a while.

“We’ll get to see everyone in incredible outfits! I wonder what they have prepared for us.” Something preppy, golf club patron for Natsuki, something made out of checkers and vinyl for Syo. They’re color coded and patented. It’s not that difficult.

Instead, he tip toes to flick his forehead. Natsuki pouts and runs a hand through his thick, blond hair, and then moves to adjust his glasses. He’s always moving, every action flows into each other and watching him closely makes Syo light headed.

“All right, all right! Let’s get moving then. We still have an interview about Triangle Beat and we have–” He prattles on and Syo finally gives him his full attention as they walk side by side, out into the window lined hallway.

Natsuki was a constant. Ever since they were kids, he’s always had to stand up for him, fight for him, but now–Natsuki is still talking and he’s laughing at a joke from the day before, sharing stories and aspirations, maybe it’s become the other way around.

No, of course not.

They arrive at the main foyer and Haruka stands up, she’s surrounded by the remaining members of STARISH, Tomochika, and in the back, pressed against a couple of convenient columns, QUARTET NIGHT makes their residence.

“Shinomiya-san, Kurusu-san!” She’s practically sparkling. “We were just going to call you, come in, sit down.”

Otoya makes room on the couch and Syo throws himself on it, props his legs up on the table. Masato gives him a curt expression and then smooths it out into something more neutral. As if they all weren’t already used to this.

“These are for you.” Syo and Natsuki get their folders, with their future appointments for the show, with sketches and photos of the outfits they were to wear.

Syo thumbs through the papers and furrows his brow. Polished nails tap against his thigh. Wait. Stop thinking. Stop processing, just for a moment and he looks up to Haruka.

“Oi, Nanami. Was there a mix up?” He sounds harsher than he likes. “This is–”

Haruka blinks, and then clasps her hands together.

“Right, sorry, Kurusu-san. Shining wanted to do something different this time! Everyone is paired up, and given a particular theme.” She gives the red haired woman a pleading look. Tomochika hands over a tablet. “You’re working with Cecil-kun!”

That explained the vaguely ethnic repertoire, then.

Cecil waves excitedly and Syo grins back, despite all things. He was going to make the best of this, that was the promise to himself. No more half-hearted work, he strides over to the ex prince of Agnapolis. He’s lounging on a chaise that he apparently stole from a very sour looking Ren, hands tucked behind his head, green gaze bright against his dark skin.

“Syo!!!”

“Cecil-san.”

He waves his hand and beckons him forward.

“Just cecil, you know, you know. Come sit down!!” He tucks his legs in and pulls them close to his chest. Syo takes the armrest and runs a hand through his dyed hair, fixes his white bobby pins.

“All right, Cecil-san. What are we doing?”

He can't bring himself to do as requested.

Cecil shines brightly, and Syo sighs, allowing a small smile to rest on his lips. He’ll listen, first. Think before jumping in, where did his bravado go. All of it withers and wanes and is replaced by something agitating instead, Cecil’s mere presence riles him up.

“Ah, well. Haruka–” There, it is. Badly pronounced but so natural all the same. “Said that the designers wanted something tropical? Something full of light. They went to Agnapolis and decided to base their inspiration on designs from the top artists in the city! Isn’t that cool?”

Sure.

“That’s cool, but, don’t you think it’s weird?”

What happened to thinking before speaking.

“This combination?”

Cecil tilts his head, and his shitty scarf falls from his neck, drips down his chest and pools onto his lap.

“Yeah. I mean, you and me. Wouldn’t Camus or Tokiya be first picks?” Someone more princely. Syo wasn’t…the first guy he thought of when discussing natural wonders of the world. Stuff like that. Okay. He stuff his hands into his black cardigan and Cecil taps a finger against his chin, one, two, three.

“Nah! I think this is fine. You’re fun. Otoya’s fun too, but I liked working with you best when we did that thing with the ninjas!” He claps his hands together. He drops his voice to a stage whisper. “Camus is terrible.”

Speak of the devil. Camus, dressed in all white, again, whacks Cecil over the head with a rolled up script. He flicks his hair back and keeps walking, back arched and head held high.

“Less familiar, Aijima. Keep your poise.”

Cecil whines and Syo rolls his eyes.

“See? He bullies me. all the time!” He rubs his head and then sighs. “He’s not so bad, though. Terrible, yes, but he’s a good motivator.”

“Mikaze is the same way. He’s got an interesting way of teaching us, haha.”

Cecil’s pout seems to be a permanent part of him, but, every so often, it’ll curl into something catlike. This was one of those times. He leans back on his seat, puts a hand against his forehead, and sighs very loudly.

“But, at the very least, this is exciting, no?”

If you wanted to put it that way, then—

“Yeah, this is new.”

It’s a challenge, and Syo’s never been one to back down. He looks through the binder again, and shows Cecil pictures of their future embarkment.

.

Cecil and Syo scrape together six hours every week, six hours that they can practice together, get fitted together, hurl insults in at least three different languages at each other, together. Syo’s never hated 1) himself 2) someone else 3) a situation more than he does now, but with Cecil alternating from the most determined soul ever to whiny shitface of the century, sometimes in the same sentence fragment, he feels he is completely and one hundred percent justified.

Goddddddddddddddd.

So. They’re together for hour number four, and Cecil’s getting fitted, again, because apparently, between now and four days ago, he’s grown two centimeters and all of his slacks run short. The hem brushes his ankles. God fucking forbid. A deep breath. Syo picks at his fingernails, and realizes he has to redo the black nail polish, and that’s just, one more annoyance in his terribly packed Thursday. He still has to go to rehearsal for Prince of Fighting, and then he has a style spread for one of the many men’s magazines he has a contract with this month, and then—

“Syo…”

~~shut up shut up shut up shut up shut shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut shut up shut up~~

“Syo?”

Syo doesn’t realize he’s got his hands curled into fists and his back bent. He’s curled into himself, and his head is pounding, there’s a jackhammer that goes to town on gray and white matter and it’s leaving him breathless. It’s not a particularly good feeling, he feels bile rising in his throat and Cecil’s got an arm around his shoulders and he’s guiding him down somewhere, he’s lying down on a couch now, or something, god, his head hurts so fucking much.

“Syo???”

He opens his mouth and he closes it, because he doesn’t want anything to trickle out, Cecil leaves the room in a start.

It’s just like—

Like what?

Last time?

When was the last time he’s been brought down to his knees.

Haha, ha.

His head hurts so much. He closes his eyes and he sees white, the blinding kind that leaves one numb and desperate for any other color.

“There he is, you have to help him—“

He fades in and out of consciousness and dreams about a brother who said the same things. Why did the people he care about always repeat themselves. He’s fine. He’s doing better. Never been better than this, in fact, he’s feeling like he can take on the whole entire world. With his two fists, and his slicked back hair, he’ll take them all one with one hand tied behind his back!

He’s doing just fine. Syo Kurusu does not need to go to the hospital. He thinks he emphasizes this when someone scoops him up in their arms and takes him out to a waiting stretcher. He doesn’t really remember. The ride to the hospital is long. It’s always long. It feels like an eternity this time, though, he doesn’t know when he got in, or when he gets out, just the hum of machines hooked up to his arms, their soft beeping noises and little green lights. It’s almost comforting, and he finds that sickening. His hand goes to his mouth, and a paramedic snaps something to her coworker, and there’s movement, and then a promise that everything was going to be okay.

If things were going to be okay, then he wouldn’t have an IV needle sticking out of his wrist. Honestly. He knows this procedure back and forth, front and back.

No one wants to say it.

But he knows.

“You’ve relapsed.”

.

Natsuki is there, when he wakes up. His head is at the foot of the bed, his arms make some sort of pillow for him. He looks so lonely. Syo wants to lean up and brush his hand through his hair, but he’s hooked up to all sorts of things, and knowing his track record, maybe it was better to let it be. He ends up deciding on wiggling his foot, tapping Natsuki’s nose.

He jolts awake. After Syo lets himself smile at his expense, and Natsuki fixes his glasses, wipes the drool from his face, he gives him the most awful look. Something so depressing, something so warm and kind and god, Syo wants to fucking cry because he can’t do this to Natsuki anymore. How many days has it been. How many times has it been. They’ve been together for years and he’s always the first one there when he wakes up, he’s always the last one to leave, he’s going to be the one who talks first at his funeral—

It was better to not think about it.

“Syo-chan…”

Don’t say it like that, Syo wants to snap, because he feels his chest cave in.

“I’m so—I’m so glad.”

He throws his arms around his shoulders, and Syo almost calls for a nurse because he’s sore all over, and Natsuki’s heavy, but god, he’s so grateful. He pulls away, and holds Syo at arm’s length, nods after giving him a look over.

“I meant, to say earlier,” Natsuki sounds sheepish now. “Cecil-kun’s here too.”

This sends Syo into a coughing fit.

The four white walls, lined with medicine cabinets, a sink, off-gray and grey-white objects and machines, this is all standard hospital fare and Syo knows it all, they’re like a bad dream he can’t quite shake off. The only thing that makes him look twice, is Cecil Aijima, curled up like a godforsaken cat at the foot of his bed, how syo didn’t notice him earlier, that was the real mystery. He shifts in his sleep and Syo stretches his hand out and pokes him.

“Five more…minutes…”

Natsuki sighs.

“He’s been here every day, since you were admitted.”

What.

“Hasn’t slept, or eaten, Haru-chan had to drag him out, pulled him by the ear and everything.”

Shy.

“why?”

Natsuki taps his finger against his chin.

“Maybe he wanted to say sorry.”

.

Natsuki ends up leaving, with much protest, and Cecil finally wakes up after a good twenty minutes. When he does, he’s embarrassed and flustered, an expression that is foreign for him. He puts his hands out and waves them around, and apologizes, first of all, for being so loud, especially when he needed to rest, and then Syo has to stop him before he goes out on another rant about hospital practices in Japan and how hard it was for him to stay over, because he wasn’t next of kin, or anything else like that, jeez—

“Cecil.”

His eyes go wide, and puts a hand behind his head. Cecil sighs and looks down.

"Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Natsuki was here, too, and we…talked. A lot.”

Syo’s sure the conversations started up about something else, and ended up with him. Maybe they talked about his mortality, and he doesn’t think he likes that.

Cecil’s wearing the same shitty scarf he always does and Syo wants to pull it off his neck, but when he stretches his fingers out, goes to grab it, his hand loses feeling completely. And he wants to cry. There’s no crying in hospital rooms. Not when he’s alone with Cecil Aijima. There’s no crying at all.

“It’s okay, you know?” Cecil keeps his tone light, and that makes Syo all the more upset. Angry. His emotions are tumultuous and he wants to know exactly why Cecil is still here, and why he’s got a dark hand over his knuckles, he’s massaging skin and bones. He wants to know why his brown hair is plastered to his forehead, there are wrinkles there that weren’t there a week ago.

(He wants to wish, desperately wish, he hasn’t been out for a week, but considering all things, all those ugly possibilities, god, god please not again—) (It’s called a relapse for a reason, lapse in time, lapse in judgement.) He wants to know so many thing about him.

“I’m sorry, for giving you so much stress, you already had so much on your plate, there was already so much you were worrying about, and I was being…”

“Fucking awful.”

Cecil smiles wryly.

“Yes, that is the turn of phrase.”

Syo runs a hand through his dirty hair.

“It’s fine, it’s not like you knew.”

He hums a little tune, something from their latest album, and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. Cecil is still for a moment, before looking back at Syo.

“You know, I thought you weren’t coming back. When the ambulance came and picked you up. The rest of us, we were waiting for the news, Natsuki was right behind you, god, he was terrifying.” He fiddles with his thumbs, and chews on his lower lip, and Syo wants him to get on with it.

“And you were right behind him.”

“Yes.”

Syo and Cecil finally look at each other.

They’ve been avoiding each other’s gazes the entirety of the conversation, their entire relationship was give and take, they were bending and then, breaking. Syo admires Cecil’s dedication, determination—his one track mind, but right now, it was suffocating them both.

He can’t compete.

“If you want, I can go—“

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Syo lies back on his pillow. His head doesn’t hurt as much. That, he sees as an improvement.

“Has my brother come in?”

“Yes, he’s out with a doctor.” Cecil sits up, and puts a hand against Syo’s wrist, careful where the needle met vein. He brushes his thumb down the curves and the ridges and Syo doesn’t even tell him to go away. It’s like a cat’s pawing. It’s nice.

Comfortable.

When he’s about to fall back asleep, he doesn’t want to, honestly, but the medicine is stronger than he is, and for once he will relent—Cecil says something. He can’t quite catch it.

(You said my name, no honorifics at all.)

.

The fashion show gets rescheduled.

They still get to walk, and the six hour work week ritual continues long after they are applauded by thousands, thousands of hundreds of spectators. They are the princes of the sand and sun, and the world accolades them for their efforts. Cecil has his hand in his, and he lifts it up towards the sky. They are striking together, in white suits and crisp jackets. They are gods. Syo’s grin lights up the entire stadium.

It takes a week of rest for Syo to be able to go down the runway. He still gets sent back to the hospital, anyways.

A relapse in what he had, well. That couldn’t be fixed by the power of friendship.

Brain tumors were tricky. They were cruel.

STARISH was always by his side. They took turns. They never complained once, and in fact, were more than happy to keep him up to date, because that was what friends did. They didn’t leave. Haruka still wrote music for him, she said she would never stop, not as long as she lived. She promised he would get better soon, well enough to sing again, and that was encouraging. It was sweet. He tells her, _Nanami_ , thank you, and squeezes her hand.

He pretends he doesn’t see the way her smile flickers, for just a second.

Cecil comes in right after, and twirls Haruka around, she chastises him for being so noisy, but, Syo knows. Everyone likes her smile the most. Cecil’s only doing what he knows best, he can play the fool if it means their princess is content.

Once she leaves, he sprawls out on Syo’s bed. He shoots him a scowl, and Cecil drops a stack of magazines.

“We made it on the front page of at least seven, I haven’t bought all of them yet!” He’s excited, and they pour over the spreads together. Cecil does most of the talking and Syo makes comments when appropriate and this doesn’t fly with him.

“You’re quiet today.”

Syo hums. Cecil rolls over so that he’s on all fours, and he crawls over Syo’s legs. He lets out a yelp. Cecil sits up, knees bent, and juts his chin.

“What, something wrong?”

“Personal space!”

“You’ve never seemed to complain about that before.”

Stupid cat.

“That’s because you’ve never been on me, get off.”

Cecil buries his head in the crook of Syo’s neck, he doesn’t have as many wires today. Cecil is warm, he is nice, and Syo hates it, because he’s leaning into his touch. Rests his head on dark brown hair, and breathes in, slow and sweet.

“You’re the worst.”

“Better get used to this, Syoooooooo.”

Syo groans and Cecil laughs, and he wonders, he really does—he asks himself why he’s okay with his life turning out like this. Maybe in a couple of days, a couple of weeks, he’ll be back out. Maybe it’s not a relapse after all. Maybe it’s a miracle from god himself, sparing the runt of the litter.

Or maybe not.

Syo Kurusu didn’t gamble with fate, he doesn’t think about the future, but Cecil Aijima is drenched in the stuff, future sight falls from his lips and into the world below—he is magic where Syo is not.

If he had to, if he has to, he would, he will bet on him.

.

And that’s fine.

It’s okay.

It could be worse.

**Author's Note:**

> this was 4 evon and 4 shary 4 dragging me into idol boy hell and making me cry how dare YOU


End file.
